


Transcendant

by meowgicmage (queerfindings)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Trans!Fenris, Transgender, trans!Anders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:35:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7863826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerfindings/pseuds/meowgicmage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris stumbles into the clinic desperate enough to ask Anders for help with a very private issue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transcendant

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much everyone is trans and/or gay. I refuse to be sorry about it. This was inspired by a post on Tumblr about how magic might feature in transition-related care. This is my headcanon. If you disagree- and more importantly- cannot be respectful about it, the door is that way --->
> 
> Otherwise discussion is welcome and as always I look for feedback on my writing style/characterizations. This diverges from canon a little, but hopefully not too badly as to disturb your immersion.

Anders startled awake with a low hum in the back of his head. Lyrium, sang Justice. Fenris, strained his eyes. The candles had been blown out again. As he rose to light them he called out a greeting. 

“You must be drunker than you thought if you're stumbling in here.” There was no response, and the minute he lit a few of the candles he did an immediate sweep of magic to finish the job as he hustled to help the bent over elf. 

“No!” Came the usual snarl, but this time it was accompanied by a bare hand fisted in his shirt to keep him from recoiling too far. It occurred to Anders that though he had his sword, he only wore the lower half of his armor, and it was not buckled correctly at the waist. “Help me.” The words were quiet, twisted with a gut wrenching amount of desperation. “Please I thought I could...never should have trusted that potion…”

Once he was on a cot at the back of the clinic Fenris sat huddled in a smaller ball than Anders had ever seen the confident warrior. 

“Fenris, you've got to tell me what hurts at least,” he soothed. “I will help you, but-”

“Cramping.” Fenris moaned a little and hunched in further. He grabbed the sides of his head and fisted his fingers through his hair. “And my- my breasts hurt.” 

“Your…” Anders pressed him to lay flat slowly and unbuttoned his shirt, even though the shape of his chest was evident now. Fenris gritted his teeth and looked as if he wanted to press his hands over his lower belly, but couldn't. A sob came out of him when Anders touched him there gently. He moved up, prodding here and there, to examine the small breasts now turned an angry red around the nipples. 

“Please say something Anders,” Fenris pleaded quietly. 

“I don't know what to say, I'm putting my thoughts in order. My first priority right now is to help stop the pain. You didn't buy that potion from a man named Kendall in Darktown did you?” When he only got a wide eyed look of shock in return he sucked a hissing breath. “Shit, no wonder. Fenris that was for humans! Your body is going crazy right now, when did you take it?”

“Three hours, perhaps.”

“Oh good!” He rummaged around on one of the shelves and returned with a small bottle to dole out a few tablespoons into a shot glass. “Here, drink this. It’ll solve the immediate problem.”

Fenris bent over the urn to retch once more, then sat back to spit. At least he showed some signs of the pain easing. 

“I thought you said this would make me feel better,” he groaned.

“I said it would help,” Anders corrected. He sat on the floor beside him, knees nearly touching. It was long past the peak of night, but at least Justice appeared to be less restless, more curious with this new information to chew. The minute he tried to speak up, though, Anders shut him down. He returned his attention to the elf in front of him. Fenris was sprawled out, hunched in on himself like he so frequently sat. Anders was careful to never look away from his pale face.

“Would you like to tell me what started all this?” He prompted. “I’m your healer, and more importantly I’d like to say we’re friends, if our relationship is a little prickly.” Fenris let his head rest against his bent arm and took a shallow breath, afraid to upset his fragile stomach again.

“I was prepared to cut myself open, should my cycle start again. It did. I sought a solution.” He wiped his mouth and flipped his hair back with the other hand. Pale eyes contemplated him. Less the usual scowl he wore like armor, his face was much softer than Anders was used to seeing. “The potion. How did you know?”

“I'm a healer.” 

Fenris was interrupted by another bout of sickness. He was that way until early morning, when Anders gave him an elf root potion and some sleeping salve. The elf hardly protested when his leggings were peeled off to wash them. His unders were well padded, giving Anders a brief kick of familiarity before he put one of his own shirts on the man and tucked him into the private bed back in his tiny quarters. Justice perked up immediately, and he found himself propelled to his uneven writing desk for another sleepless night of furious scribbling. He napped at the desk briefly, leaving a smudge of ink on his cheek beneath two days of stubble and a fortnight’s worth of exhaustion. Still he was up shortly after the sun to creep outside the clinic. He was halfway up to his lantern when the Fade spirit in his head reminded him what day it was. He stalled his gesture and went to pump water instead. 

Halfway through scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bloodstain on a set of bandages, the light pad of steps made him startle. 

“Andraste’s tits-” He put a hand over his bare chest with half a laugh. Fenris just stared at him. “I forgot you were back there. Sorry. How is your stomach?” 

“You have scars. I have only seen them once, in passing.” 

“Oh, right.” Anders shifted weight on the balls of his feet and clapped his hands to rub them together. “Um. Well the process isn’t that messy anymore but then again I was doing it with a knife too so- oh. O-okay.” Fenris was across the small space in a blur to throw his arms around Anders’ waist. He fought the panic that rose in his chest and patted the elf on the shoulder until he was released. 

“Oh. Forgive me, Hawke mentioned you do not like touch.” 

“Caught me off guard, s’all.” Breathe Anders, he repeated over and over, one hand starting to twitch against his outer thigh. “Your cramps, your stomach, do you need to piss- Maker please give me something else to think about!” Another nervous laugh, slightly higher pitched with anxiety, coughed out of him. 

“Yes. The symptoms from last night have subsided. I am still…tender.” He made a vague gesture at his chest, the tips of his ears gone bright red. Anders gave in to his urge to tap his hand against his thigh, and used the other to tip the elf’s chin up and get a better look at his eyes. Less glassy with pain, and the circles beneath had faded as well. “I slept well. What was it you gave me?” 

“Just a salve.” The iron bands on his chest finally loosened. He could breathe once more. Justice surged forward as he always did after such an episode, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward against an incoming headache. “I’m sorry, your clothes were filthy. It’s laundry day. You are welcome to stay until I’m finished, or I can send for Hawke. I’m sure we can come up with some reason as to why we’re both half naked before she gets here.” 

“No. I would call Isabela besides, but I have questions. Is that okay Anders?” 

“Fine. I just have to get this done.” He nodded shortly and resumed his position at the washboard. Now that he had an audience he was acutely aware of the maze of scar tissue spanning his chest- not to mention the lashes on his back. Fenris sat on one of the cots and pulled a blanket across his lap to sit more comfortably. The shirt hung off one narrow shoulder, and every so often he would reach a tattooed hand up to adjust it. “Look, there’s not much to say on my personal life. I appreciate you reaching out to me, really I do. To trust a healer, and a mage at that, has to be incredibly difficult for you. But my history is painful and neither of us want to have this discussion with Justice do we?”

“Agreed.”

“Let’s start with options for you.” He dunked the bandages into the rinse tub and grabbed another pair to grate against the scrub board with a bit of soap. “That potion was made for humans, but I can make one for you personally. It’ll be a little slower but your body will adapt to it naturally. I see several others for this. The only problem is ingredients, most of them come from the Wounded Coast- or further. Your other option is you come to me once a week and I use a spell to change your body. That process is virtually painless. After a certain number of sessions you are changed permanently.” He gestured to himself as an example. Fenris bobbed his head to show he’d heard, but was otherwise silent. Anders chewed the side of his cheek and kept scrubbing, then transferred to his feet with a grunt as several joints popped. He began the process of wringing bandages out and hanging them on the lines strung across the clinic in a complicated maze. Through it all Fenris watched him, eyes tracking from the tub to a line, and back. 

“You are willing to do that for me?” 

“I said last night I consider you my friend, didn’t I?” 

“You might consider raising your standards.” Anders turned around to put his hands on his hips, only to find a smile toying at the edges of Fenris’ mouth. It faded into a more solemn look quickly and he spoke to his feet, as he had a habit of doing when Hawke wasn’t around to correct him. “Would it be possible, to try a session with you? We may have our differences but you’ve done nothing untoward.” He adjusted his shirt again, his next words barely above a whisper. “I will die if I stay this way.” Something squeezed in Anders’ chest, drove him to kneel in front of the forlorn elf. He feathered light fingertips over his hands, then took them in his own. Pale blue eyes widened a little but still refused to lift to his.

“Your trust will not be misplaced. I give you my word, for all that may be worth to you.” 

“More than you imagine,” Fenris sighed, and Anders withdrew again to complete his task. The elf tilted over to lay more comfortably on the cot and the next time Anders looked over he was asleep again. He never looked so soft in sleep, before his face was usually held tight, jaw grinding, limbs restless. This Fenris was different, a study of fluid relaxation that only seemed to be brought on by pain exhaustion. He finished his chores by early afternoon and finally roused his guest to put some clothes on. Fenris became more sure of himself as he emerged fully dressed from Anders’ private room. His belt was a little looser than usual, but he looked more himself now. There were no words exchanged, just a brief squeeze of strong fingers on his shoulder in passing. Fenris paused briefly at the door. 

“Thank you, Anders.” And then he was gone before Anders had a chance to respond.


End file.
